


Wired Wrong: Chapter 2

by ash_carpenter



Series: Wired Wrong [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parent/Child Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter





	Wired Wrong: Chapter 2

  
**Chapter 2**  


 

Sam was out canvassing the neighbourhood, trying to get a bead on which family the demon would strike that night.

John had finished prying information out of the cops and Dean would be back from information-gathering at the local hospitals soon. Their jobs wouldn’t take as long as Sam’s – and that was deliberate.

As soon as Dean entered the motel room, John was on him, snatching hold of him with unforgiving hands and wrestling him to the floor without any kind of warning or preamble.

“Dad! What the hell?” demanded Dean, heart beating hard through his chest and throat as adrenaline roared through his system. For the first couple of seconds, before he’d realised that it was his father, his fight or flight response had kicked like a mule.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” John’s voice rumbled through Dean’s back, low and rough and dirty. He pinned Dean to the floor with his weight, reaching beneath to work on both of their jeans. He didn’t really need Dean to answer; his cock was already fattening up in spite of – or maybe because of – the harsh treatment.

“What about Sammy?” gasped Dean, yelping a little as his fly was torn down and his pants yanked beneath the swell of his ass.

“ _Fuck_ Sammy,” growled John with feeling, slapping Dean’s exposed right ass cheek hard enough to send blood rushing to the surface, leaving a livid red handprint.

Dean cried out, then tensed when he felt John’s exposed cock against the cleft of his ass. He was always ridiculously hot for his father, it was true, and he’d always been a fan of the rough stuff with his old man if no-one else, but John had never taken him like this before. Anytime Dean had planned to rile John up enough to just force his way inside, his father knew he’d always prepared himself in advance. And no doubt he hadn’t expected his dad to try anything with him while the three of them were together. In fact, the poor kid might have made the foolish mistake of thinking they could actually function like a real family for a change.

Instinctively, Dean squirmed, throwing an elbow back not to hurt John but to try to toss him to the side or at least make him pause. “Dad, wait! Jesus, give me a little warning, huh? I’m not ready.”

John snorted. “And I care because...? You know you love taking my dick, so man the hell up.”

Dean shouted through clenched teeth when John shoved forwards, ramming hard into his unprepared hole. He flinched as a meaty hand was slapped over his mouth to keep him quiet, tears squeezing out from beneath his screwed-shut eyelids. He laid his cheek flat to the floor, either oblivious to or blocking out the feel of the grubby motel carpet, and clenched his fists in an attempt to anchor himself through the pain.

Through it all, he was rock-hard, hips shifting restlessly against the ground even as his body naturally moved away from John’s intrusive thrusts.

“Fuck,” breathed John against Dean’s neck, shoving into him with short, jerky motions. He bit into his son’s throat, way above the collar line, drawing blood to the surface. He normally tried not to mark Dean, as bitterly ashamed as he was of their sexual relationship, but this time he _wanted_ Sam to see. He wanted Sam to know that he didn’t have the power or the leverage, and that there was a base and visceral, fundamental part of Dean that would always belong to his daddy.

Dean cursed in both outrage and lust, his outburst muffled against John’s palm. His shirt had pulled up and he was getting harsh rug-burn from the friction against his belly, plus his palms and cheek were getting oily from the grimy carpet. It was all intensely uncomfortable and humiliating – and John was almost certain that Dean would have already come if it was just a shade less painful.

John could feel the steady stream of tears wetting his hand and he turned Dean’s face further so that he could see the salt-washed green of his eyes. He knew how beautiful his boy was, and of course part of him felt bad for hurting Dean, but it gave him a vicious, twisted pleasure too. Every day, he wondered how on earth he’d fallen so far as to become the kind of abusive scum that would fuck his own children, and an ignoble part of him couldn’t help blaming them. Both of them had approached him, pushed him, tempted him, even manipulated him. They couldn’t be mistaken for innocent. He just wished he’d been strong enough not to take what they’d both so blatantly offered.

He suddenly kneeled upright, ass resting on his feet, and harshly yanked Dean up along with him. Impaled on his cock, Dean helplessly sat in his lap, thighs trembling as they bracketed his with the shoved-down jeans pulled painfully tight. Fucking into Dean with long, deep strokes and taking his weight while he controlled the movement entirely, John wrapped one hand around his throat and the other around his cock, murmuring in his ear.

“You take dick so good, don’t you, sweetheart? And you love it, I know you do. I want you to come for me, just like this. Can you do that, huh? Can you come for your old man?”

Shuddering, cussing a blue streak, Dean turned back and buried his face in John’s neck. When John started to jack him, pumping into him from beneath, he keened and immediately pushed into the touch, instantly right on the edge of orgasm.

“Gonna come?”

“Yeah. Fuck, Dad, yeah,” he panted, trying to settle further into John’s lap and maximise every nudge against his prostate. “Please...”

John twisted his fist over Dean’s shaft, stripping it hard as he pounded into him from beneath. Within mere seconds, Dean threw his head back and arched forward, a strangled cry escaping his constricted throat as come pulsed from his slit.

“Yeah,” said John. “Good boy.” Without giving Dean time to even finish spurting, John shoved him out of his lap and manhandled him onto his belly on the floor. Then he yanked Dean’s face forwards until he could shove his slick, straining dick into his mouth. “Come on, get me off.”

Dean moaned and sucked John hard, apparently not caring that he could taste his own ass. John thrust urgently between his pink, puffed-up lips, holding him in place with a hard grip around his neck. He looked down at his desecrated son, with his ass hanging out of his jeans and come cooling on his clothes and the ground, hair mussed and flushed face streaked with tears. Thinking how beautiful Dean was and how incredibly angry Sam would be about the whole thing, John soon found himself ready to blow.

Grunting, he pulled Dean’s head back a little way, and commanded him, “Keep your mouth open.”

“Fuck, yeah,” agreed Dean, eyelids fluttering as John came all over his face, thick white smearing across his cheeks and lips, and landing on his eager tongue. He greedily gulped it down and darted forwards to lick the last few drops straight out of John’s slit.

“Jesus,” said John shakily, pushing him away a little and then running a trembling hand through his hair.

Dean coughed and then chuckled. “Jesus is right. What the hell’s gotten into you? I’m a crime scene, man.”

Not particularly wanting to reflect on how true that was, John laughed a little and pulled Dean up into an unexpected kiss. Usually, Dean had to push for any scraps of affection.

“Just needed you, kiddo,” said John, voice raw and warm. He carded his large hands through Dean’s hair and kissed him again, both of them kneeling.

“Dad?” questioned Dean, voice confused, but heartbreakingly hopeful. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” said John easily, giving him a reassuring smile. The boy was already unconsciously crowding closer to him, pushing into his touches like a kitten. He titled up his sweet, inviting mouth, and John pressed their lips together again, slicking over Dean’s with a sweep of his tongue. “Sam won’t be back for a while. Wanna grab a shower?”

“You mean together?” Dean sounded slightly disbelieving. In the years that Sam had been gone, they’d had plenty of time and opportunity for such things, but John had rarely allowed it. He’d actively discouraged that kind of intimacy, wilfully maintaining their father-son dynamic the entire time, except for the moments when he was actually inside Dean. Sometimes even then.

“Yeah. Give me a minute and I’ll even be able to go another round.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked cheekily. “You been on the Viagra again...?”

“Shut up,” said John with a snort, smacking Dean’s ass. Then he led Dean into the bathroom, smiling to himself at the oh-so-right conclusions that Sam was going to jump to when he returned to find them both shower-damp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean.”

“My God, Sam, what happened to you?” asked Dean, rushing over to support him as he came through the door looking like he was about to keel over.

“Vision.”

“Ah, shit. C’mon, sit down.” Dean led Sam over to the bed and helped him sit, pressing a hand to his forehead before crossing to the sink to wet a washcloth. As he gently held it against Sam’s face, he asked, “So, what happened in the vision?”

“Another family living through the hell we did. It was… Wait, where’s Dad?”

“Getting some sodas from the vending machine; he’ll be back in a minute. Rest a little and you can tell us the details together.”

“Yeah, okay,” nodded Sam, wincing as the motion sent a fresh bolt of pain through his head. He blinked a few times, his vision finally clearing to the sight of Dean’s concerned face. “I’ll be okay in a bit.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Dean easily, giving Sam a reassuring smile. They heard footsteps and he looked towards the door. Sam’s eyes were immediately drawn to the dark smudges on his neck, and it didn’t take long to put two and two together and realise there was only one person who could have put them there. If he hadn’t been feeling so fragile, he’d have been enraged. But as it was, he just felt tired and sad and weirdly jealous. Of whom, he didn’t know.

He wanted to berate his brother for letting their dad use him again, despite the hypocrisy, but in the end it just felt too nice to have Dean’s strong, sure hands taking care of him. So instead he kept his mouth shut and leaned into the touches, just a little.

The door opened and John walked in, instantly looking irritated to see Dean mothering Sam and then concern creeping over his expression a few seconds later. John had seen Sam hurt far too many times over the years, and neither of his sons expressed pain lightly, so he could tell right away that Sam was in bad shape.

“Son?” he asked, forgetting all about his ignoble intentions to flaunt what he’d done to Dean.

Sam steeled himself for having to explain his unwelcome supernatural abilities to his father. As if they didn’t have enough to argue about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John looked over at Sam’s slightly pain-pinched face, mulling over the frightening new revelation that he’d been getting visions. What the hell had that yellow-eyed bastard done to him?

John wondered whether the demonic influence had spawned Sam’s unnatural desires. It would be one hell of a convenient excuse, but it wouldn’t really explain why John and Dean were so messed up too. Although an unfair part of John did feel like his youngest had infected them all.

He wished he’d known sooner about the visions, but as Dean had so irritatingly pointed out, he hadn’t exactly been easy to contact recently. He’d been running towards the demon and away from the awful things he did to his son in the dark, and they’d all paid the price. It was just one more reason to feel like an asshole.

“Sammy? How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Dean will be back with the food soon. Eating might help.”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, then turned to stare at John. “His neck is bruised.”

“What?”

“You said you were gonna stay away from him, give him a chance to heal. But now he’s all marked up, right where I can see.”

John sighed and shifted uncomfortably. He’d wanted to punish Sam, but now it all seemed so stupid. He might not even survive the fight with the demon – and hell, that might even be for the best – and he was being the very worst kind of father. They deserved better, whatever mistakes they’d made – and he was supposed to be the adult, leading by example, not some petty dick who used his children to hurt each other.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You hurt him.”

“Probably.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t even mind, huh?”

“Sam...” he said wearily. He shrugged, deciding that he might as well be honest. “I guess not. Your brother is very forgiving.”

Sam smiled wryly. “Not like us, you mean.”

“No,” agreed John. “Not like us at all. He’s sweet and generous and you’ll never know how bitterly I regret giving him the sex he asked for when what he really needed was just affection.”

“So why do you keep doing it?”

“Son, I wish I knew.” John hung his head, sighing deeply. At least Sam wasn’t screaming at him.

“Do you give him that too? Affection?” Sam sounded curious rather than accusatory.

Uncomfortable, John shook his head a little. “Sometimes. Not as much as wants or needs. Besides, kissing and spooning isn’t what a man should get from his father. But I honestly don’t know whether he can tell the difference between what should come from family and what should come from a partner – or whether he cares, at this point.”

“It’s not like he can have a real partner anyway, is it? Not with this life.”

Sam sounded so incredibly sad, and John thought about the girl that he’d lost. It was true that being a hunter was lonely for Dean – but John had to believe that it was better than living with the grief that he and Sam did. That old adage about it being better to have loved and lost was a crock of shit.

“Maybe someday. After the demon is dead.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Dad? Even if we survive, there’ll always be some other demon or shifter or wendigo... Dean’s a hunter. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.”

“Because I’ve never given him the chance,” said John, finishing the thought for both of them. Usually it angered him when Sam pointed out his failings, but John was feeling honest and melancholy enough that he could acknowledge the truth of it.

Sam astonished him by saying, “It’s not all your fault. It’s the life. I mean, I supposedly got out, and look what happened.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for that too.”

“I know.” Sam gave him a small smile, then rose to his feet, intending to get a glass of water. A bolt of dizziness hit him and he stumbled, crumpling. He would have fallen to the floor if John hadn’t been there in an instant to catch him.

“Hey, you okay? Talk to me, kiddo.”

“Fine,” murmured Sam, letting his father support him over to the bed. “Doesn’t hurt – I was just lightheaded for a sec.”

“You need something?”

“No, just...” He stopped, swallowing as he suddenly became aware of their proximity, John’s arm around him on the bed as he sagged into the solid and comforting warmth. Sam felt a confusing mix of emotions and desires, his need for fatherly strength and security battling with the ever-present vicious heat that John bred in him. “I want...”

“What?” asked John, absently carding a hand through Sam’s hair and looking at him with concern.

It was a shock to both of them when Sam leaned further into John’s body and their lips met in a soft kiss. Not only was it not their usual style, but it was almost chaste, and John was forcefully reminded of Dean. His boy was always looking for something that was to the left of the straight and narrow, but far too innocent for the road to Hell that John was leading them all down.

“Sammy,” breathed John against Sam’s mouth, almost a question. He wanted to ask what was going on, and he wondered if Sam was unconsciously competing with Dean and his thirst for affection. But the moment felt fragile like spun sugar, and John didn’t want to break it.

Sam pressed his forehead to John’s, their lips brushing together once more. The intimacy was strange, both thrilling and slightly repulsive, and both of them shivered with the confusing hot-cold sensations. They shifted a little, chests nudging, and John closed his eyes as Sam’s fingertips scratched lightly through the scruff on his jaw. It felt wrong and awful, but also like something vital, his heart pounding and gooseflesh breaking out over his skin.

Sam’s breath was fast and shallow, his pupils blown wide, and John closed his teeth gently over Sam’s lower lip. Neither of them even heard the door over the rush of blood in their ears, and they both jumped at the sound of takeout containers hitting the floor and a stricken cry from Dean.

“Fuck,” hissed John, pushing Sam away from him. He rose immediately to his feet, followed an instant later by Sam. “Dean, listen to me...”

Dean shook his head, eyes wide and wet and disbelieving.

Sam took a couple of faltering steps towards his brother, looking almost more upset than Dean, as if he was about to burst into tears. “Dean, please. This isn’t what it looks like, I swear. It’s all ancient history, and I didn’t want you to find out like this, and –”

Dean held a hand up, clenching his jaw. “You know what? Spare me the details. I’m, uh, yeah. I’m gonna go.” He waved off their frantic denials and entreaties to stay and talk. “Just don’t. And don’t follow me, okay? The least you can fuckin’ do is give me some time.”

“Dean, wait,” pleaded Sam. “It’s not...”

“Stop!” shouted Dean. He made a visible effort to rein his emotions back and lower his voice. “Stop. It’s exactly what it looks like.” He turned to John, face blank. “I should have known.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” blurted John. The whole situation was about as bad as it could get, but it seemed absolutely essential for Dean to understand that he hadn’t forced Sam into anything.

“Oh, I know that,” said Dean with a nasty, hollow laugh. “Otherwise I’d have shot you in the face, father or not.” John flinched, but took the words without protest; he wouldn’t have expected anything less. “Now, like I said, I need some time. So leave me be.”

He didn’t even slam the door on the way out, and it was his relative calmness that scared Sam more than anything.

 


End file.
